It's Us Crew Oneshots

Rock [D-Gang Oneshot]

     The revving of a motorcycle broke sharply through the knight, the sound of the vehicle engine startling woodland creatures as the headlight beam cut through the wooded area around the backroad. Soon the trees parted into a sparse town, apartment buildings, singular bungalows, and a pitiful gas station and McDonalds surrounding the road that split off into several other sections. The motorcycle took off down a narrow road leading to a seemingly empty house, where the vehicle was parked beside the mailbox and the motorcyclist parted from his steed. The rider removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm and shaking his long, wavy, black hair that stuck to his head. He turned and headed up the driveway, running a hand absentmindedly through his locks as he approached the door, which was illuminated by the house's porch light. The gravel beneath his feet crunched loudly in the dusk, and the chorus of crickets was the only other sound in the quiet of the area.

      He knocked on the door, and almost immediately, it was answered. He stepped back as the screen door opened out, and before him stood a woman only a few inches shorter than he was, her green eyes narrowing at his appearance. "Took you long enough to get here," she greeted, and the young man let out a short exhale of amusement.

    "Good to see you, too, Dashlie," he said. Dashlie glanced over his shoulder and then looked left and right outside before waving him in.

     The house was inexplicably plain, and it was eerily quiet, save for the tv in the living room that was left at a low volume. Most of the lights in the house were off, and even though it was just the two of them in the house, the man felt as if he had to whisper. "How long has he been gone?" he asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table and sat his helmet on its surface.

     Dashlie answered as she opened the fridge to grab them both waters, "Well, Dick, if you had read my text more carefully, you would know it's been two weeks."

     Dick rolled his eyes at that and took the water bottle as she handed it to him and took a seat. When he had received the text, he only took in the words "Don", "missing", and "maybe dead" and he left without another word. "Where was he last?" Richard questioned, eyes distant as he recalled his panic when he first found out.

     "I last saw Don, like... leaving the house to go pick something up from the dry cleaners. When he didn't come back, I assumed he maybe went somewhere else and didn't tell me. He is an adult, after all," Dashlie answered, taking a sip from her water bottle. "My next guess was that he was at your place, but obviously not. I went to the dry cleaners earlier today and they said he never showed up."

    "Weird," was all Dick could think to say. He then glanced back up at her. "What was he supposed to pick up?"

    Dashlie stood up. "I was just getting to that... give me a second..." Dick watched her as she disappeared and then he turned away. He kept trying to rationalize the situation over and over again in his head. Don had just gone off on a spur-of-the-moment vacation, that was all. Even though Don had a habit of bringing either his roommate or Richard along whenever he did go anywhere, now was different — totally. He just needed space. Space from what? Richard wasn't sure. Denial at its finest.

     Dashlie soon returned with a shirt draped in plastic hanging from a coat hanger. The woman set it on the table and removed the plastic, and Dick's eyes widened when he realized that wasn't a shirt — it was a coat. His coat, to be specific. He traced the silver stitching along the trim of the coat, the buttons all in one place and the black fabric clean as a whistle. It was as if it had never been ruined. "I don't know what this means," said Dashlie. "I don't know why he'd have a jacket like this — it's not his thing. And besides, it's way too big for him."

     "That's because it's my coat," Richard pointed out, surprised Dashlie hadn't connected the dots yet. Dashlie furrowed her eyebrows.

     "Why does he have your coat?"